Vladimir, 67, does not understand what
is happening.
It has been said a hundred times: work transparently.
Huge sums of public money are being allocated transparently.
The project is, in effect, also of broad
national importance. But no—they are stealing hundreds
of millions, hundreds of millions.
Several dozen criminal cases have already
been opened.
Court rulings have already been handed down; people are in prison.
People are behind bars, yet there is still no order there, and to this
day it has still not been properly established. So what is it—
it turns out Putin is supposedly against
corruption and constantly tells his
officials to work transparently,
but they do not listen to him and keep stealing anyway
hundreds of millions.
More likely even billions. After all, these words
our president says about the spaceport in
Vostochny, which, let me remind you,
was originally supposed to be built for 150
billion rubles, and now that amount
has grown to a fantastic 300
billion rubles. Dear Vladimir Vladimirovich,
I am now going to do one
very simple thing especially for you, since you started talking
about transparency.
Since you demand it and have said a hundred times
that everything should be transparent, that people should work transparently,
it does not get any more transparent. I will not even dig now
into the construction contracts and throw around
figures, although since 2012 the Anti-Corruption Foundation
has been practically shouting that
everything is being looted at this spaceport. So,
I found out that for some of the facilities
Roscosmos and its subordinate organizations
were signing highly questionable state
contracts worth hundreds of millions of rubles, and
moreover, they continue to do so now.
By now, more than 120 billion rubles have been spent on the Vostochny Cosmodrome,
and
that is money from the budget—from taxpayers—
which means it is not mine alone. I will point my finger at the very
top, almost right next to you, dear
Mr. President, and then we will talk a little
about transparency. So: the Vostochny Cosmodrome,
Vostochny.
Where, as Putin quite rightly tells us,
everything has been stolen.
It is run by Roscosmos, and
who runs Roscosmos? The man you yourself
appointed.
Dmitry Olegovich Rogozin, together with his friend
robot Fyodor, who is going to conquer
deep space.
For the first time in the world, on August 22 we are launching
this machine, which is called, well,
the space robot named Fyodor.
The device will operate in a mode of complete
replication of a cosmonaut's actions, first
from the station, because it will then be possible
to control it directly from
the mission control center. In the future, we plan
that this machine will
provide for us and
and help us conquer deep
space.
[music]
Unfortunately, we do not have such a highly paid
robot in our military-industrial complex, so we will do it the old-fashioned way.
We take the official income declaration by hand.
Of Roscosmos chief Dmitry Rogozin. He
worked there for just over a year. Let us
see how much our
space manager earned: 29.5
million rubles was Rogozin's income for 2018,
and it says directly that 23.5
million of that came from his main place of work,
that is, from Roscosmos, and another 6 million
came from God knows where.
That is 2 million rubles a month, 100,000
rubles a day. We are all for transparency, but
maybe that is exactly what you are supposed to pay a man
who is planning to master deep
space with the help of robot Fyodor. Next,
let us take a look at how much the director
of NASA in the United States earns. Their
spaceports seem to be doing better than ours, and
they carry out far more launches than
we do. But, you see, the director's salary is
at most around $250,000
a year—that is, about 16 million rubles a year,
which is one and a half times less than
our Rogozin's. Which, by the way, is extremely
interesting in light of the fact that, for example, with
ordinary engineers, the situation is exactly
the opposite: an engineer at NASA earns on average
$82,000 a year, that is about 430,000
rubles a month, while at a Russian
Roscosmos enterprise
an engineer, for some reason, earns 60,000
rubles a month. But let us return to our
Rogozin and keep looking at what one can
earn in a state
corporation. We continue reading the declaration.
We compare the "Vehicles" section
for 2017 and 2018 and see that the Rogozin family
has somehow multiplied
with brand-new cars. Dmitry Olegovich himself
saw fit to acquire
a Mercedes S500 4MATIC; one like that in a mid-range
configuration costs around 12 million
rubles. And his wife became richer by a whole
Range Rover—that is about
8 million rubles. And by the way, robot Fyodor's
car is much more modest. So then,
Dmitry Olegovich,
why not buy the lad a G-Wagen too? If you
managed, after working a year at Roscosmos,
to spend only about 20
million rubles on cars, why is robot Fyodor any worse?
Especially since when he flies off
to conquer deep space, his ride
will be left to you.
[music]
classic
pharmacies
But that is not all—we continue.
We look at the disclosure forms, and there it is: a dacha, a dacha.
A dacha? What dacha? It wasn't there before, and yet—
now let's turn to Roscosmos and the Vostochny Cosmodrome.
Vostochny.
It appeared, so we decided to ask around.
To ask about it. You see, even Putin
demands transparency, but absolutely
no one—not the FSB, not the Presidential Administration,
not the Accounts Chamber, not the Prosecutor's Office—apparently
knows anything about Dmitry Rogozin's brand-new dacha.
It's unclear what to do.
You might as well ask Robot Fyodor, and that's exactly what we did.
We did, and it turned out that as part of
preparations for a mission into deep space,
our unique robot flew straight over
his boss's dacha.
Unfortunately, our advanced technology
is powerless against tall trees, but
we still managed to make out a few things.
We're in northern Moscow, just beyond the MKAD (Moscow Ring Road),
in the Khimki area, and here is Rogozin's nearly 800-square-meter
brand-new country house.
It stands on a pleasant wooded plot of 25 sotkas (about 2,500 square meters, or 0.25 hectares),
which also appears in Dmitry Olegovich's latest
disclosure forms. But when we got there,
we found a surprise waiting for us.
A month ago, Rogozin expanded his
holdings by exactly two times, and now it's
a half-hectare plot, and as you can see,
construction is in full swing here, just like at the Vostochny Cosmodrome.
They're putting up some kind of gazebo.
There are building materials everywhere, and in the back you can already see
an already completed, impressively sized
banya (Russian bathhouse/sauna).
Let's make another pass with the drone—
maybe we'll spot something
interesting. And yes, we notice a path
leading somewhere unclear at first.
Let's look closer, and we can clearly see
a gate to the neighboring plot, and on the other
side of the fence—just look—there's actually
a well-worn little path there.
Very interesting—who is Rogozin such close friends with
that he even connected their plots, and the house
is quite substantial—larger than Rogozin's own,
in fact 808 square meters. The answer to that
question can usually be found in extracts from
Rosreestr (Russia's property registry).
But not this time, because according to
the official documents,
all of it is owned by a private individual.
I hate this. It is incredibly infuriating. We
run into this more and more often
when we investigate Russian crooks: they
classify themselves in official documents.
As if they're so important, so grand,
and as if all the intelligence services in the world have one goal:
to find their dacha. Rogozin, by the way, also hid his own
giant 350-square-meter apartment
in exactly the same way—there too,
now there are only anonymous 'private individuals.' And
if they're hiding something this aggressively, then of course we
become even more interested—naturally we want
to get to the truth. So let's look for
clues. We carefully examine everything
that might point us toward even the slightest
useful lead. Now look here:
on the classified plot, we noticed
several cars. One of them is a Range Rover,
exactly the same one listed in Rogozin's
disclosure.
The second clue is running around nearby:
it's a dog, very much like the one that appears in
Rogozin's Twitter under the name Ponchik.
And we find the third clue in this
photo from Rogozin's Twitter. The caption reads:
"Dmitry, Tatyana, Nicholas, and Poncho Rogozin
wish you, friends, a Happy New Year."
As we now understand, this photo was taken
right here, by this bench on
the plot of that mysterious private individual.
Everything matches perfectly here, but even so,
one important question remains:
Comrade Rogozin, where is Nicholas the dachshund?
Mental.
We've gone to great depth here, and
the water pressure is enormous.
That very dachshund—the one you submerged and then
supposedly took home—where is Nicholas? We see the shepherd dog,
we see Ponchik running around, Robot Fyodor is also
out in plain sight for everyone to see.
But where is the dachshund? Two years have passed. And as for
the plot, one thing is clear: Rogozin
has been using it for several years. And who is actually
hiding behind the coded label
'private individual'? We know that too. In our own
working archives, we
found that four years ago
we had already obtained an extract for this house. Back then,
apparently there was no such grave threat to
national security, and the owner of this
808-square-meter mansion was still
listed under his real name: Serebryakov,
Gennady Nikolaevich.
According to Rogozin himself, this is his father-in-law,
his wife's father. And just so no one would think
he was some kind of businessman or oligarch,
it is specified that Gennady Serebryakov is a former
KGB officer. He is now 81 years old. He bought the dacha
at 77, so there is not the slightest
doubt that here too
the money of our chief space boss was used. By the way,
since it made it into the frame, the neighboring
800-square-meter house was bought in 2017
by Rogozin's aide in the government,
government service,
Valentin Semyonovich Vasilkov.
Now Vasilkov, by an amazing
coincidence,
works as the head of administrative affairs at Roscosmos, and
his salary there is also similarly
enormous—around 20 million rubles (about US$200,000 at a rough current rate). Well then,
it's time to talk in detail
about the money. Rogozin's property—a half-hectare plot of land
and an 800-square-meter house—is worth 200
million rubles, and that is a very conservative
estimate. Right now, this neighboring empty plot of land is listed for sale
right now.
the price tag is more than 3 million rubles for
one sotka (100 square meters) of land. Rogozin's elderly father-in-law's plot and
we estimate it at 150 million rubles, and making that estimate was
very easy for us: we found a listing for
the sale of that house, a much more
old
and well-maintained one, for 135 million rubles.
So, dear Vladi-
mir Vladimirovich (Vladimir Putin's patronymic), and, I am sure, the whole country
is putting this simple question to you:
from the standpoint of your
favorite principle of transparency, which you demand
from others to work more transparently, can you explain the appearance
of this property in the family of the head of Roscosmos (Russia's state space corporation)?
350 million rubles' worth of assets. What appears in the
official declarations is three times more than
Dmitry Rogozin
a government official could have earned in his entire
life. But besides that, you know, we are also
greatly troubled by the official salary of 23 million rubles.
Can you explain to us
why you set the salaries of the director and
deputy director of Roscosmos higher
than that of the head of NASA? No, we are not against
a large salary, but why is it insanely
high?
Do we really have that much extra
money in our budget? It is very important to explain this, because
how can you demand
transparency from people at the bottom
if, at the very top, openly, we have just now
used nothing except
the published declaration, and yet things so clearly
do not add up? Well, and if
you cannot explain it and bring transparency,
then Dmitry
Olegovich Rogozin is absolutely right to propose naming
the Vostochny Cosmodrome after you.
A failed project that was built
several years longer than promised, whose cost
doubled, and during whose construction
billions were stolen.
Well, of course it should bear the name
Vladimir Putin.
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